


The Second Crash

by SlowLoriis



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Gen, Gorillaz References, Phase One (Gorillaz), Pre-Gorillaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29195334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlowLoriis/pseuds/SlowLoriis
Summary: Murdoc decides he's gonna take an incapable Stuart on a day out - but whilst doing doughnuts in Nottingham, an accident happens... A retelling of the day 2D was knocked out of his coma from Murdoc's perspective.
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot
Kudos: 22





	The Second Crash

**Author's Note:**

> Hi :) This is my first ever upload to AO3, so I decided to write a short story familiar with people in the Gorillaz fandom, I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading.

_Mr Stuart Pot..._  
Murdoc sat in quiet contemplation on the living room sofa, swirling a bottle of whiskey in his right hand. Of course, he could never truly be in deep thought without a drop of alcohol.  
“D’you like what’s on telly, blue tit?” He snorted at his half arsed joke, before taking a large gulp of his drink. “I’ve gotta admit, Stu, I didn’t think I'd be here at this age… watching crappy daytime tv with a vegetable sat next to me. At least the whiskey is premium.” As expected, Stuart didn't reply. He just sat there, a blank look adorning his face, tongue lolling out of his mouth.  
“I’m gonna be in a band one day. We’re gonna be big - massive, think Ozzy Osbourne without the brummie accent - because Satan will make good on his half of the deal. Well, he better… he’ll have hell to pay for otherwise!” Another snort, another gulp, another blank expression. Murdoc’s brow furrowed. “I’ve told you this a million times before, and I’m just about sick of doing jack squat. We’re going out, mate. The social worker isn’t due for another couple hours or so anyway.”

After folding the kid into the back of his car with only mild bruising - impressive for Murdoc, who usually managed to cause at least a couple gashes when transporting Stuart - he wiped his mouth free of whiskey and started the drive to Nottingham. He knew full well that the stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke tainting his clothes was far from a subtle one. A couple near misses with the police resulted in a swifter-than-usual journey, which Murdoc considered to be much more efficient. _Maybe I should drive drunk more often,_ he thought, _really kicks my arse into gear_. The Tesco’s car park was near empty, typical for a Sunday afternoon… aside from a group of girls, who Murdoc estimated couldn’t be much older than 25. He knew full well that his Vauxhall Astra wasn’t what - or rather who - they were looking at. With a toothy grin, he spun the car into action, kicking up gravel and dirt with the back wheels. A manic laughter came from his mouth as the world spun around him, his right hand gripping the gear stick with all the force of a gorilla. What a great band name, I should make a note of that one. Just as the adrenaline started to turn into nausea, he caught a quick glimpse of one of the women lifting her shirt up in a… less than family friendly manner. But Murdoc lost control quicker than he could take the image in, his mind now spinning in conjunction with the car, his thoughts a tangled mess, before ploughing into a lamp post. A blue blur and a loud smash was all he could process as his head hit the steering wheel.

The taste of blood wasn’t one that the bassist found appealing. The metallic flavour had a sense of nostalgia to it, which disgusted him even more. He couldn’t have been out for long - 30 seconds? No longer than a minute, at most. He pushed his hands against the steering wheel, sitting upright with an unsavoury groan. Murdoc smeared the stream of red coming from his nose across his upper lip, staining the sleeve of his hoodie. He winced only slightly - a broken nose was nothing short of evocative, and he despised it. It was then he realised that the windscreen was smashed to pieces, glass sprinkled on the dashboard like a fresh layer of snow. He had crashed enough times to know that lamp posts didn't do that. Just beyond the trail of shards lay the figure of an injured man, a small pool of blood gathering beneath his right arm. It was only when the person rolled over slightly that the bassist understood. 

“STUART!”  
Murdoc dragged himself out of the wreckage, and leant on the car roof to support himself. The queasy feeling wasn't going to leave anytime soon.  
“STUART!”  
He called again, this time with more alarm in his voice. What would he do? He certainly didn’t care about the little twerp, but he knew full well that this wouldn’t look great on his record. No better than his deal with the devil, anyway.  
“STU- Stuart?”  
Panic turned to confusion as he realised that the man - who had been nothing short of a human ragdoll for the past year - was moving, entirely of his own accord. Murdoc, for the first time in his life, was dumbfounded. _How on Satan’s earth?_ He frantically looked around for someone, anyone else, sharing the sight with him, but the gaggle of girls had long gone. He watched on, as Stuart - his arms shaking from holding any weight for the first time in a year - pushed him to his knees. His head hung low as his trembling legs extended, attempting to hold him up. Murdoc could see his disorientation, and for the first time, he almost felt _sorry_ for the lad. Only almost though, because Stuart was now standing fully in front of him, casting a long shadow that touched the tips of Murdoc’s trainers. He reared his head slowly, the blue tufts of his hair pointing in all directions. It was then the bassist knew. Both of Stuart’s eyes were replaced with a jet black gleam, and for the first time, the empty expression adorning his face fit amongst the two large dents on his forehead. _A blue haired, black eyed God!_ Excitement halted empathy as Murdoc’s mind buzzed. “My new frontman! My new frontman!” He rushed over, slinging the man’s arm over his shoulders to help him back to the car.  
“Er - where are we?” Stuart mumbled under his breath, wincing slightly at Murdoc’s less-than-gentle handling.  
“Don’t think about where we are - think about where we’re going! Straight to the top, my pretty little bluebird, and you’re gonna be the face of it. Think fame! Think Hollywood! Think comically tiny portions at those posho restaurants! Stuart isn’t a very rock and roll name though…”  
Murdoc hummed, looking his new frontman up and down.

“How about Two Dents?”


End file.
